"Oh!" said Camelia, "_do_ you know me? Even now, do you know me? I"m not one bit good! I am still the horrid child who clamored for your love; my love for you the only good thing in me! You love me, all the same? You don"t mind? don"t expect anything? I want so much, but I will have nothing, not a kiss, not your hand holding mine,--there, let it go,--on false pretences."

"I can only retaliate. _I_ am not one bit good. Dear, horrid child, will you put up with me?"

"Oh, I never minded!" she cried. "I loved you, good or bad."

"And I you; only I minded. That is all the difference. There isn"t a falsity between us, Camelia," he added.

"No, there isn"t."

 

"Then, may I kiss you, and hold your hand?"

"Yes; only--first--first--" she held him off, smiling, yet still doubting, still tremulously grave, "I am not good enough; no, I am not good enough."

"Quite good enough for me," said Perior. "I am getting tired of your conscience, Camelia."

THE END.

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